


Secret is to Sing a Little Song to Survive

by kueble



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Winter At Kaer Morhen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kueble/pseuds/kueble
Summary: Jaskier's first winter at Kaer Morhen is a little hectic, but he figures things out.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 261





	Secret is to Sing a Little Song to Survive

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on Tumblr: I'd love a fic based on "It's not Christmas til somebody cries" set in Kaer Morhen with all the boys and sidecar Geraskier cause you love it. I want shenanigans. Title from the same Carly Rae Jepsen song.

Jaskier’s not entirely sure what he expected Geralt to be like around his brothers, but they’ve all been acting like overgrown children since arriving at Kaer Morhen earlier in the day, and it’s delightful. Well, it’s a bit terrifying but they seem to be having a good time so Jaskier just goes with it.

The first indication that Geralt won’t be acting like the taciturn man he does when they’re travelling the path comes during dinner. Jaskier is tucking into his hearty stew when Lambert mumbles something he doesn’t catch, and without warning Geralt is bounding over the table and tackling him to the floor.

Jaskier gasps and drops his spoon into his bowl, jaw dropping as he watches the scene play out in front of him. Aiden, the cat witcher he’d been introduced to with orders to stay away from him, is cackling with glee, clapping his hands together as the other two witchers grapple with each other on the floor. Lambert takes a swing that Geralt dodges, and then he’s able to roll them, flipping the brunet onto his back. Geralt grins widely in victory, but it’s short-lived because Lambert twists his legs and topples him off and then they’re rolling around the floor again.

“We have company,” Eskel mumbles into his mug in a half-assed effort to break them up. Vesemir keeps eating, muttering to himself under his breath in a perfect picture of a patriarch who is just too far gone to care.

“I should have added more salt,” Vesemir says cheerfully to Jaskier who just blinks back owlishly at him.

It’s over as soon as it begins and Jaskier watches in shock as Geralt stands up and offers his hand to Lambert before pulling him up to his feet. They’re laughing as they hug, both seemingly unaware that they were literally just beating the shit out of each other. Aiden wraps an arm around Lambert once he sits down and then kisses the side of his neck.

“Oi! Not at the dinner table,” Vesemir grunts out before reaching for the little bowl of salt in the middle of the table. Lambert shoots Aiden an apologetic look and digs into his meal again. Everyone in this keep is fucking mad, and Jaskier is wondering if accepting Geralt’s invitation was a good idea after all.

\---

“I can’t believe you’ve never made bread,” Geralt says, turning to look at Jaskier over his shoulder. 

“Yes, because it’s a skill all nobleborn men are taught straight out of the womb,” Jaskier mumbles. He hates not being impeccable at everything, and this is no different. He’s been hovering over Geralt, watching him walk through the steps of the recipe. It doesn’t seem too difficult and there’s something soothing about the process. If nothing else, it’s the act of creating something from nothing, and Jaskier can definitely get behind that.

Besides, Vesemir had informed him that everyone in the keep took their turn in the kitchen, so he most definitely needed to improve his culinary skills.

“Now we kneed it. You give it a try,” Geralt tells him, stepping aside and pushing Jaskier closer to the counter. 

Jaskier remembers being a boy and hiding out in the kitchens, conning the old cook into giving him treats by being as adorable as possible. He knows he’s supposed to dust his hands with flour, so he does so and then looks down at the lump of dough. He sticks his tongue out and starts working it through his fingers, pausing only when he hears a disapproving grunt from beside him.

“You need to be gentle. Let me show you,” Geralt says, and then he’s stepping behind him and reaching around his body to direct his movements. Geralt's chest is pressing against Jaskier’s back and his mind goes blank at the warmth of it. “Pay attention,” Geralt chastises, his voice a low growl right in Jaskier’s ear.

“Yes, yes. Bread,” he blurts out stupidly, but it’s not his fault that his brain can’t function properly when Geralt’s entire body is aligned with his. The larger man covers his hands with his own and works Jaskier through the motions of kneading the dough. Oh, he’d been way too aggressive with it. They stand there, moving together as Jaskier tries to focus on the feeling of the sticky dough beneath his fingers and not the hot exhales of Geralt’s breath against the nape of his neck.

“Don’t fuck in here,” Eskel calls out as he stomps into the room.

“What? We’re...we don’t? Bread?” Jaskier stumbles over his words, his whole body going taut at the accusation. Geralt stiffens and backs up, pulling his hands away as if they'd been burned.

“You know we’re not like Lambert and his cat,” Geralt says, scowling. If he were anyone else, Jaskier would think there was a hint of jealousy in his words, but Geralt doesn’t see him like that, never has.

“Look, I’m not one to judge. However, the only seed I like in my bread is rye, you know what I’m saying?” Eskel laughs to himself as he grabs a handful of dried fruit and wanders back out of the room. Jaskier gapes at his retreating form and steadfastly ignores the way his body seems to be going through withdrawal at the loss of Geralt’s solid body behind him.

Geralt mumbles out some rough directions for a baking time and hurries out of the room, leaving Jaskier to stare down at his hands and contemplate everything he thought he knew about his life.

\---

The best part about wintering with the witchers is that Jaskier gets to watch them train. Half the time it’s far too cold for him to be out in the courtyard with them, but today is fairly mild and he’s bundled up in enough layers that the chill can’t quite reach him. He could write a hundred songs about the way they circle each other, the loud clash of swords echoing in the air. Right now Geralt and Eskel are caught in a dangerous dance, moving together beautifully as they attack and counter and parry. 

Vesemir is calling out pointers from the sidelines, reminding them to watch their footing or adjust their grip, but all Jaskier can see is two masters plying their trade. It’s beautiful how in sync they are, neither one quite able to get the advantage in the fight. The use of signs had been banned before the sparring began, otherwise he’s sure Eskel would be winning. Even Lambert looks impressed from where he’s sitting on the sidelines, half draped over Aiden.

Then Geralt goes to spin right and Eskel moves astonishingly quickly, bringing his sword up and knocking Geralt’s out of his hands. Geralt stares wide-eyed at him before sparing a quick glance at his lost weapon. The small distraction is all Eskel needs to go in for the kill. Suddenly his blade is under Geralt’s chin and he has a wild grin on his face as he laughs at his brother.

Vesemir had stated it was a fight to first blood, so Jaskier holds his breath and waits for Eskel to make his move. Surely he won’t slice at Geralt’s throat, right? It’s a delicate area even for a tiny cut. But then Eskel moves quickly, dropping his sword and darting forward to smash his head into Geralt’s. The resulting crack is deafening and Geralt drops to the ground almost immediately.

“Enough!” Vesemir intervenes, stepping into the training circle. Eskel rubs his forehead and looks down at Geralt, brow furrowing as he holds out a hand to help him up.

“You broke my fucking nose,” Geralt cries out, his voice laced with mirth. He touches his face, cringing as he looks at his bloody fingers. He throws his head back and laughs wildly, shooting Eskel a bloody grin as the other witcher joins in.

“Lucky shot,” Eskel says before pulling Geralt into a hug. And as they stand there, clinging to each other and laughing their fool heads off while Geralt’s blood runs down both their faces, Jaskier wonders if he’s the only sane person in this whole keep. Considering he’s half mad himself, it’s not a very comforting thought.

\---

_“I never imagined you’d care about me, not like this,” Jaskier says quietly. Geralt’s hands are heavy on his hips, his thumbs sneaking under the hem of his chemise to rub at the soft skin there. Jaskier trembles and awaits the witcher’s response, his heart hammering in his chest._

_“Of course I feel the same,” Geralt whispers against his mouth, their breaths mingling for a long moment before the witcher darts forward and kisses him roughly. Jaskier melts into the kiss, deepening it as he clings to Geralt, reveling in the solidness of him beneath his hands._

“Oh sweet fuck!” Jaskier shouts, swinging his fists wildly as he comes to. He’s still in his bed, but he’s drenched and shivering. He looks around the room and sees Lambert standing there, a wooden bucket held tightly against his chest.

“You weren’t waking up,” he says with a shrug.

“So you threw ice cold water at me?” Jaskier spits back at him. He’s chilled to the bone and his teeth start chattering as he glares at the other man, who at least has the decency to look ashamed.

“Is this a human thing?” Lambert asks, chewing on his lower lip as he studies the bard.

“Yes, we tend to not enjoy freezing our balls off. Now get out of here so I can put on every piece of clothing I own and hopefully not _die_ today,” Jaskier grumbles at him. Lambert nods sharply before fleeing the room, leaving Jaskier to wonder yet again how these witchers can be so brilliant about certain things but so ridiculously inept the rest of the time.

\---

Jaskier strolls into the pantry and sets the candle he’s carrying down on a shelf by the door. He’s in charge of dinner tonight and has been thinking about making a roast from the deer that Lambert and Aiden had brought back yesterday. He grabs a basket and starts plucking ingredients from the shelves, but he can’t remember where the fuck the rosemary is. He knows they keep a supply of the dried herb in here. He turns around to look at the other wall when movement catches his eye.

“Morning!” Aiden greets him, laughing when Jaskier shrieks and drops his basket. The man is curled up on the fucking _shelf_ using a sack of potatoes as a pillow. He’s grinning maniacally, chuckling to himself as Jaskier struggles to get his wits about him.

“What the fuck?” Jaskier shouts at him, flailing his arms around. His heart is beating frantically, trying to escape his chest, and he damn near emptied his bladder. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

“It’s cool in here,” Aiden tells him as if that explains anything. And you know what? To him it probably does. “You’re very jumpy. Are all humans this jumpy?”

“I don’t know. Are all witchers this odd?” Jaskier counters. He shakes his head, because the answer is obviously yes, and squats down to gather up his ingredients. “You seem to spend a lot of time in here, any idea where the rosemary is?”

“Top shelf right next to the door,” Aiden informs him before curling back up again and closing his eyes.

“Er...right, thank you,” Jaskier calls out, grabbing the herb and his candle before scurrying out of there. He ought to track down Lambert and tell him his boyfriend is sleeping in the pantry, but it’s no doubt completely normal to him, so why bother?

\---

Jaskier stands in his doorway and stares at his bed. His eyes are prickly with the threat of tears and he just can’t drag his gaze away from the pile of evergreen branches on top of his bedding. Logically, he knows whoever did it is just including him in the stupid pranks the wolves have been playing since they got here. But he’d fallen asleep writing in the dying firelight of the dining room, and it’s entirely too late for this shit. He swallows a sob that threatens to break out and changes into his sleep clothes as quickly as he can.

He’s knocking on Geralt’s door before he can second guess himself. It’s not like they haven’t shared beds in countless inns across the continent. This isn’t anything different. It also isn’t like he’s missed being close to the witcher, missed accidentally waking up wrapped in his arms with his head tucked under his chin. And if he’s lying to himself, he might as well add that he absolutely hasn’t missed the warmth Geralt radiates, doesn’t lay awake in his own room yearning for that solid heat to curl up against.

“What?” Geralt growls sleepily through the door.

“It’s Jaskier.”

“Get in here,” he calls out and Jaskier quickly opens the door and enters the room before he can talk himself out of this. Geralt sits up and waves a hand at him, silently asking what the problem is. The blanket pools around his waist in a way that is utterly too unfair, and Jaskier swallows down another sob. 

“Someone put branches in my bed. Just heaps and heaps of evergreen, and I am one so thoroughly over it. Can I sleep here tonight?” he asks hopefully.

“You’re always welcome,” Geralt tells him quietly before throwing back the covers meaningfully.

“Don’t say that. I’ll never leave,” he jokes as he climbs into the bed. Geralt wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close before covering them both back up.

“I sleep better when you’re near,” Geralt admits, almost shyly. “Now sleep and we can figure out who I need to beat up in the morning.” He’s half out of it, but Jaskier feels a gentle press of lips against the top of his head. Jaskier can’t help but think that this may be the moment he’s been waiting for; that everything might be changed come morning. But for now, he’s warm and safe and exactly where he wants to be, so he grabs a handful of Geralt’s sleep shirt and sighs contentedly as sleep overtakes him.

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [Tumblr](https://kueble.tumblr.com/)


End file.
